


Keep The Customer Unsatisfied

by Mackem



Series: Imaginary Advent Calendar 2012 [9]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The customer, as far as Aziraphale is concerned, is not only never right, but never welcome. Crowley's just there to hand over a present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep The Customer Unsatisfied

**Author's Note:**

> Every year, I write what I call my Imaginary Advent Calendar, where each day until December 25th I open another day of an advent calendar that doesn’t exist and write what I picture various people or characters in different shows/fandoms/books in a holidays context. This year I’ve challenged myself to write a ficlet for every day. See Vicky panic! They’ll be in various different fandoms and pairings, and won’t be particularly long (except the ones that eat my brain). Enjoy! X!
> 
> Good Omens, my love for you and your are-they-aren't-they angel and demon pair will never diminish.

Crowley strolled through the grimy door into Aziraphale's shop with his gift under his arm, ignoring both the sign that suggested it was closed, and the lock which was surprised to find it wasn‘t. "Angel!" he called, glancing around the dingy interior. He pulled his sunglasses a little way down his nose. Aziraphale never allowed too much natural light into the shop, lest customers begin to feel welcome there.

The angel appeared from behind a beaded doorway, a delighted smile spreading across his face. "Hello, dear boy!"

"Business is booming, I see," Crowley smirked, gesturing lazily around the deserted shop. Aziraphale beamed, surveying the scene with a satisfied sigh.

“Oh, I’m struggling along.”

“When was the last time you had to sell a book?”

Aziraphale frowned thoughtfully. “Let me see, now. I would think…yes, it must have been March.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I distinctly recall it. March two-thousand-and-eight.”

“You’re quite the businessman, angel,” Crowley smirked. The two of them glanced towards the door as a sudden rattling came from it. “Looks like you’re in danger of repeating the incident.”

Aziraphale groaned at the sight of an elderly lady just outside his shop, struggling with the locked door. As their eyes met she rapped pointedly on the glass and rattled the handle.

Aziraphale sighed, and ducked back out of sight. "Heavens. This is your fault, Crowley.”

“Do tell.”

“I try not to let people see anybody inside. It tends to make them think more of them are welcome.”

“Where ever could they get the idea that customers may be welcome in a shop?” Crowley smirked, and aimed a bright wave at the lady.

“Do try not to encourage her, there’s a good chap,” Aziraphale grumbled. “Really, this is too much. I was open for an entire half an hour this morning, where was she then? We're closed," he called to her, his voice as raised as it ever got. "Do come back another time, if you really must."

"The concept of good customer service has never really sunk in with you, has it?" chuckled Crowley. 

"On the contrary, I do as much as possible to turn them away without them thinking it’s anything _personal_.”

“I don’t think it’s sinking in,” Crowley commented. The woman had progressed to rapping angrily on the glass with the handle of her umbrella. Aziraphale seemed flustered.

“Well, really now. We’re clearly closed. Is that such a difficult concept?” he asked the demon plaintively. “Do you know, I've even put up a notice in the window saying we've a serious mould problem, and to cover one's airways as much as possible whilst inside, and still people wish to come in! What more can one do to keep customers away?"

"You could put up a warning about asbestos," Crowley suggested, as he watched the old woman glare daggers at the two of them and try the door again. It rattled angrily in the jamb. "That might keep a few of the less determined ones away. It might even be true," he added, glancing around. The shop looked like it had not been renovated in a century.

"That's an idea," Aziraphale beamed, before offering Crowley a smile. “Dear me, I’ve quite forgotten my manners. Do come through, dear boy, and make yourself at home.” With one final glance at the persistent potential customer, Aziraphale disappeared into the back rooms with a rustle of beads.

Crowley followed after a moment. Perhaps the forked tongue he stuck out at the old woman before he dragged the front door‘s blind down in her face was a tad indulgent, but he was a demon. Indulgence was his thing.

The back of his shop was much more pleasant than the front, if decidedly dated in style. Doilies were out in force. Crowley sighed.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Aziraphale asked, bustling about with a teapot and a plate of custard creams. There were already crumbs around his mouth. Indulgence, it seemed, was not purely a demonic trait. Crowley grinned, and handed over the package under his arm.

"I'm considering a Christmas away, this year. Somewhere tropical, where they haven't heard of Wham or Cliff bloody Richard. So I've brought your present early."

"My dear boy," Aziraphale murmured, chubby fingers smoothing over the crinkling wrapping paper. Wrapping paper was definitely an idea from down below; hideously bad for the environment, plus guaranteed to annoy anybody who liked a neat living room. "You really didn't have to."

"Of course I did!"

"Not to mention that I've not prepared anything to offer in return, yet. Really, Crowley - "

"Really _nothing_ , angel. Anyway," he smirked, and settled himself in an overstuffed armchair. The antimacassar behind his head threw itself desperately across the room with a wave of his hand. "I've supplied my own present. Open it!” he encouraged with a toothy grin. “You know you want to."

Perfectly manicured nails unstuck the paper neatly while Crowley poured himself a cup of excellent coffee from a pot that was sure it had previously contained tea. "Amazon kindle," Aziraphale read uncertainly, and looked to the demon.

"It's a book. Of sorts."

"It's electronic?" Aziraphale hazarded as he opened the box. Crowley smirked and sipped his coffee.

"Got it in one! And your present to me,” Crowley said with a delicate smile, “Is that I get to watch you trying to figure out how to work it without lifting a finger to help."

A most unbecoming scowl flitted across the angel's face. "That's hardly in the Christmas spirit. Goodwill to all mankind, etcetera."

"Goodwill is hardly in the _demon's_ spirit," Crowley rebuffed. He gestured dismissively at the angel's elderly personal computer, certain that a model this old would not even have a modem. A wave of his hand and bit of technical wizardry fixed that. "Go ahead. I'm sure there's an instruction booklet."

It was, he reflected later as he bit into a second custard cream and watched Aziraphale get annoyed that somebody had already snapped up the email address aziraphale@gmail.com, a very merry Christmas indeed.


End file.
